‘Not much. How about you?’

‘I’ve got too much on my mind. Then the moment I drop off, some old bloke’s taking a piss on the other side of the wall.’

‘How is Tony? Does he know the firehouse is about to get shut down?’

Sam offered a noncommittal grunt and pressed a thumb into his sore shoulder. ‘Fucken did something to the rotator cuff there.’

‘Give someone else a chance to get a wave.’

‘You going for this one?’ Sam asked, eyeing an incoming set.

‘Ha ha.’

‘Right, see ya.’ Sam paddled but couldn’t make it. Dog, on his SUP, stole it off the pack and was careering through the traffic when Japan Ned, not normally a drop-in artist, decided to take off in front of Dog and pull four or five snappy turns, Dog screaming homicidally at his back about being on his feet first. The mob on the peak cheered for Japan Ned: any wave stolen from an SUP was cosmic justice.

‘That was worth the price of admission, eh,’ Sam said.

‘I only agreed to come out because you had something to tell me,’ Gordon answered. ‘So I can’t say it was worthwhile until I hear what it is.’

Sam looked cautiously from side to side and paddled further from the pack, past Tonsure Man and out to sea. He kept peering through his armpit to check that Gordon was following.

What seemed to Gordon like halfway to New Zealand, Sam sat up on his board.

‘Yeah, well, what we were talking about the other night,’ Sam said. ‘I was right. We are fucked.’

‘I know that. You might have to narrow it down.’

‘We’re fucked in the worst possible way.’

‘Which is?’

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped his eyes. At first Gordon thought he was crying, but he was just wiping off the salt water and blowing his nose into the surf.

‘I’ve left the bank,’ Sam said.

‘Season for change,’ Gordon replied. ‘Jude Oxenford’s leaving town too.’

‘Bet she didn’t get marched out of her own home office.’

‘Come again?’

‘I’ve been put on compulsory leave while my loan book is audited and my computer and phone records are gone over. These goons came in on Friday and took over my desk. Can you tell me why all the detectives nowadays look like bank auditors, and the bank auditors look like detectives?’

‘Jesus.’

‘I won’t sugar-coat it, brother. You are fucked and I am particularly fucked. If they’re not complete morons, they’ll find out that I’ve been lending you money against shares, which is illegal for a start. On top of that, I’ve been having those shares revalued fraudulently, and you weren’t meant to be on my books anyway. Fucken banking royal commission—who’d have thought they’d get anything done?’